


The Seven Cordelias

by silverbirch



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 02:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10233161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverbirch/pseuds/silverbirch
Summary: Have you ever found yourself wishing that your friends loved you a little less?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Contains big, fat **spoilers** for _Gentleman Jole and the Red Queen_.

Oliver was running a towel through his grey-streaked hair as he walked into Cordelia's living room, more tired than he wanted to admit from the swim over to her house. He dreamed of a backrub, followed by a foot-rub, and all the things in between. Cordelia, however, was busy, sitting in front of her comconsole and using her Friendly Voice.

"And please, give my love to Dr. Borgos, and tell him how truly honored I am. I don't know that I'll be able to make it back to Barryar for her christening - I don't travel much, love- but next time the Commodore and your mother take the trip, bring her along. Much love and luck to you, Martya, and to little," Oliver sensed the _slightest_ pause. "Cordelia. Vorkosigan out."

Cordelia sighed. Oliver approached and obligingly began rubbing her shoulders.

"So Martya's starting her brood finally, eh?"

"Yes," Cordelia said, stretching back like a cat. "Mm, Oliver, do they give  _massage_ lessons at the Imperial Service Academy? At any rate, I just got the happy news. I am, once again, a godmother."

"Ah," Oliver said with a small grin. " _S_ _tin igia sou_ , my love."

"The hell it is," Cordelia said sourly. "Do you know how many that is?"

"Rather a large number, I presume."

"You're damn right. There's Delia, and  _her_ little Cordelia, and Martya just decanted one, and don't forget Lady Cordelia Vorrutyer, and of course Elena's daughter-"

"She's on the nets, again. Apparently she thwarted some major assassination attempt against the Prime Minister of Escobar." Which, considering the girl was all of seventeen...

"Mm, lower. I saw. I swear, if there's any more, the birthday gifts alone are going to bankrupt me."

"You should try to be less inspiring, then."

"Oh, hush. Evie go down okay?"

Everard Xav, Oliver's son and the light of his world, was still across the bay, hopefully asleep, though with two-year-olds you never knew.

"Yeah, Mikhail's with him."

Cordelia smirked, swiveling in her chair. "Mikhail, hm? First name basis already?"

"Oh, hush your meddling, haven't you interfered enough?" Oliver belied this statement by bending over to kiss her quirked lips because, really, they were right there. Mikhail the Impsec Au Pair was twenty nine, and white blond, and a perfect physical specimen, but give Oliver his sometimes-bitchy Betan matriarch every day of the week. He threaded his hands through her red and silver hair, and for what seemed like the ten thousandth time blessed his good fortune.

"Never," Cordelia breathed, standing, and getting serious with the kiss. She brought up her wrist com and said, "Rykov? I'm going to be in conference with the Admiral, so keep the living room clear. And the pool. And the patio."

"And the kitchen," Oliver murmured, giving her ear a nibble.

"Ooh, ambitious this evening?" Cordelia said. "And the kitchen," she added, before she turned her wristcom off.

"Oliver," she said, voice husky. "Come here..."

<><><>

Some time later, after they had proved to the Nexus at large that they both still had it (Cordelia laughingly referred to them as  _the beast with two backaches_ ) they laid out in the patio under the stars, overlooking their bay. The waters were silvered with phosphorescent algae (Oliver was writing a paper about it) and the garden all around them was dimly lit with colored lamps. 

What had he done to deserve this, to deserve her? It must have been truly heroic, and he was sorry to have missed it.

"It's not that it bothers me," Cordelia said, suddenly, sitting up and setting the hammock to rocking. Oliver, concussed with endorphins and nursing a pulled hamstring (so maybe the kitchen  _had_ been overly ambitious) made an encouraging noise.

"It's just...good lord, I'm just one woman."

"You've touched a lot of lives, Cordelia."

"A lot have touched mine. But really, six namesakes?"

"It's only natural...wait, six? There's Delia and her daughter, and Elena's daughter, and Olivia and Martya's make five..."

"My son Mark, who thinks he is terribly clever, sent me a message yesterday. It seems he and Kareen have finally started a family, he says."

"Wow," Oliver said. "Them too, huh? When is the baby due?"

"It's not a baby," Cordelia said sourly. "It's an extremely squashed-looking ginger cat they picked up on Vervani."

"...named Cordelia?"

"Named Cordelia."

Oliver had to laugh; he couldn't help it. It rang out into the night, as did his chortles (retired senior officers didn't  _giggle_ ) as she tickled him in retribution.

"You cad, you wretch," Cordelia said, in much the same tone she used when she spoke words of love. "I should leave you and let you sink weeping into Mikhail's tan, muscly arms."

"Cordelia!"

"I would trip him myself, Oliver, but he's too young for me. Besides which, he only has eyes for you. I wonder what it is about the Service Academy that encourages the development of this homosocial hero-worship thing for senior officers-"

"I have some news of my own," Oliver said quickly, because he was too tired to initiate lovemaking to derail the Betan data-spate.

"Oh?"

"I called the rep center. They've started my second boy."

Cordelia's smile was like the summer sun. "Oh, Oliver! Congratulations!"

They talked for awhile longer, there in the night. Aral, he felt in his more goopily sentimental moments, was watching over them with a smile. And probably laughing his ass off over the kitchen thing. So Oliver wasn't twenty-seven anymore, no matter how he felt inside. So what?

He did wonder when he should tell her he'd named his son Corwin, though.


End file.
